


A night to remember, for all the wrong reasons.

by TayBartlett9000



Series: Delboy doing Porridge. [1]
Category: Only Fools and Horses, Porridge (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Historical, Humour, Inmates, Prison, pree-only fools, young Del Trotter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 09:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19017409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: Before Del  Trotter grew up  to be a dab hand at wheeling and dealing, he managed to get himself  locked up for selling something to an under cover police officer. Now he has  to spend five months in prison. However,  his short stay in prison is  to become rather interesting, thanks to the man with whom  he is sharing a cell.





	A night to remember, for all the wrong reasons.

“Derek Delboy Trotter,” the voice boomed, sounding too aggressively loud in the silence of the court room, “You have pleaded guilty to the charges brought by this court, and it is now my duty to pass sentence.”

Delboy sat in stunned silence, knowing even without turning round that Granddad would be watching his every move with anxious eyes. He couldn’t look round. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the face of the judge before him. He knew what was about to happen now.

“You are a habitual criminal who accepts arrest as an occupational hazard, and presumably accepts  imprisonment in the same casual manner.”

Del was finding it difficult to breathe. Imprisonment. Was that what the judge had said? Prison?

The judge was still speaking. “We therefore feel constrained to commit you to the maximum term allowed for these  offences. You shall go to prison for five months.”

It was over.  The sentence had been handed down and  Del could do no more  to prevent it. Not that he  would have if he could. To raise an objection in the face  of his having   pled guilty before   the judge and jury would  have surely done more harm than good, so he stood and prepared to leave the courtroom, knowing that the prison guards would be waiting to escort him to the isolated prison that was situated far from everything and everyone he knew and loved.

And there they were.

The tall man who stepped forward was smiling at him and this alone was enough to put the fear of god into him. Was  this man one of those guards who pretended to be your friend while secretly plotting to make your  life a misery? He  hoped not, because he wasn’t honestly sure if he could take any more unpleasantness  on the part of other people.

“Come along Mr Trotter,” the tall man who  called himself Mr Barrowclough, said  in a voice as gentle as the expression on his face, “we have to get to Slade before night fall. Get a move on now.”

Del obediently allowed Mr Barrowclough to lead him from the courtroom, but not before he offered his granddad a cheery wave and a bright smile. “See you in five months then, granddad,” he called, determined as he always was not to let anyone see what he was feeling, “make sure Rodney keeps out of trouble.”

His grandfather nodded. Del offered a thumbs up jesture to the judge and followed the prison officer  out into the  car park where a prison  van was waiting for him. Without a word, his bravado forgotten, Del clambered into the back and took a seat in one of the cells situated at the back of the van. He sat in silence, Mr Barrowclough taking a seat in the cell with him and stared  into space, looking  at and noticing nothing.

What had happened  that had landed Del  in such  trouble? What circomstances had changed? He had  never been caught before. What had happened this time? More importantly, what was granddad going to do now that he and young Rodders were alone in the flat? His job had thus far insured their  relative peace. His job had  kept them fead. His job had kept them warm and the job he had done since before Rodney’s birth had  ensured that they had a roof over their heads. But  his job had unfortunately been a less than legal one, hense the trouble he was now in.   twenty three and already a criminal. Something had clearly gone drastically wrong.

Mr Barrowclough was speaking. “So, how do you feel about going to prison, Mr Trotter?”

Del found his voice at last. “I think it’s a blinding liberty sir,” he said heatedly, voice ringing around the van as the driver drew them closer to where ever they were bound, “I mean, I don’t quite know what it was I did.”

Mr Barrowclough sighed. “Weren’t you listening to what the judge said?”

Del shook his head. “Na, not really,” he confided, “sounded like a load of bloody woffle to me. Why?  what did he say?”

“You flogged a dodgey microwave to an under cover police officer,” Barrowclough said levelly, “that’s what you did.”

That was news to Del. “Oh, I see. So why am I being sent down for the microwave being dodgey? I mean, what do you expect for fifty quid anyway?”

Again, the prison officer sighed as if the conversation with Delboy was giving him a head ache. “I don’t think it was the state of the machine that was the problem,” he said, “I think it was the fact that you soled this very machine to an under cover police officer. Apparently, they had been trying to catch you for some time.”

Del nodded. That would  certainly make sense. “I’ll have to try a bit hardr when I get out next time.”

“Try harder at what?” Barrowclough asked with a raising of the eye brows, “keeping your nose clean?”

Del shook his head. “Na, I’ll have to try harder at not getting done by a copper when  I’ve finished mi porridge. That’s all.”

The two men lapsed into silence.  It became apparent that Mr Barrowclough was not in the mood to continue this conversation with him. Delboy was reduced to sitting in silence, desperately  hoping for this ride to be over. The sooner he arrived at the prison, the sooner he would be able to leave.

It took them hours to reach the prison, hours in which  neither Del nor the gentle mannered Mr Barrowclough spoke. The low rumbling of the prison van’s engine was all that Del could hear, and even that sound was faint in his ears as the dark thoughts of Rodney’s immediate future tumbled around in his head.

The prison looked bleak against the iron grey sky. Del climbed  out, still cuffed to mr Barrowclough who led him towards the doors. “You’ll probably be sharing a cell with other men, Mr  Trotter,”  the prison officer was saying now, “You may not like this but that is simply  what we have to do. The prison is so crowded these days. I’ve been trying to tell Mr Mackay that introducing a programme of rehabilitation would  improve the penal system altogether but he somehow doesn’t seem to  believe it. I keep on saying, we’re here to help them. Our job as prison staff is to get  men like yourself back into society.”

“Who’s Mr Mackay?” Del asked, voice  horse through lack of use.

Mr Barrowclough frowned. “He is the  principle prison officer here at Slade  Prison,” he told Del in a low voice as they entered the building itself, “and he decides what goes on around here. You’ll have to answer to him  before anyone else. Even our own governer takes his words into consideration.”

“Sounds like a jem, Mr Barrowclough.”

“Not really, Mr Trotter.”  

Del fell silent once more as Mr Barrowclough led him towards what he presumed to be the cell blocks. It was at that moment where Del met two men who were to prove influential over the next five months. He would remember this fateful meeting in years to  come and he would forever be able to bring the images of these men to mind. They met at the end of the long row of prison  cells, the  two unknown men staring at  Del, one in   slight  irritation and the other in mild exasperation.

 One of these two men was dressed in a uniform similar to that which Mr Barrowclough was wearing and Del supposed that this man could be Mr Mackay himself. The other man,  a surly looking  individual, was dressed in the  uniform of a prisoner, exactly the same uniform that Del was wearing.

“Ah, this is the new boy is it Mr  Barrowclough,” the prison officer said, glearing  at Del as if he had done him a great personal wrong, though they had only just met.

Mr Barrowclough nodded. “This is Mr Trotter Mr Mackay,” he said politely, suddenly appearing to Del to  be  growing meaker in this  angry man’s presence, “I’ve brought him in to see the governer.”

Mr Mackay glared again at Del who glared back, recognising in him the type of bully that he knew very well indeed. “Very good Mr Barrowclough,” he said curtly, “I’ve brought  Fletcher in to see the governer as well.”

The man whom Mackay had addressed as Fletcher glared at the prison officers standing before him. Mr Barrowclough sighed deeply and said with a shake of the head, “what on Earth have you been up to now Fletcher?”

Fletcher  shook his head and frowned at Mr Barrowclough. “Oh nothing much,” he said flatly, “just a bit of good and honest exchanging of merchandise, that’s all.” 

“Rubbish,”  Mr Mackay shouted, angry to the core, “a simple exchange of goods it may have been, but that simple exchange had been conducted using stolen goods.”

“Stolen goods Mr Makcay?” Fletcher   said in  affronted incredulity, “I never did such a thing. I’m an honest criminal, I am.”

Mr Mackay snorted with derision. “Ah yes, Fletcher. I forgot the old line that you cons trot out. It may interest you to know Fletcher that they are in fact no honest criminals. There is no such thing. Do you  hear?”

Fletcher nodded. “Oh yes sir.”

Del  was  beginning to realise that perhaps  this stay in prison may not prove to be as bad as he had previously thought.  This man Fletcher was apparently a wheeler dealer himself. That wasn’t so bad then.   Perhaps if  Fletcher knew how to make a bit of money on the side in here, Del could join him. That would be interesting.

“Come on  then, Mr Barrowclough,”  Mackay was saying now, “let’s get these  men in to see the governer. God knows we need to get this over with. I’m  fed up with the pair of them already.”

Fletcher and Del accompanied  Barrowclough and Mackay down the long rabbit warron of gloomy coridors and  into  an office where they were told the wait for the arrival of the governer. Both took seats close to the door and Del looked about him. This office was as grim and grey looking as  the rest of the prison. There would be no  cheerful memories made here. He sighed and turned his head away from the room around him, choosing to glance at the man sitting next to him instead.

“Rotten, isn’t it?” Fletcher asked, “all of it. Bloody rotten.”

Del  nodded. “Feeling a bit Tom and Dick, if I’m honest,” he agreed.

“You new here, are you?”

“Yeah, just arrived today.”

“How long are you staying at this hotel then?” Fletcher asked sarcastically, looking around at the gloom as if to emphasise his point.

“Five months,” Del said, “don’t think it’s going to be much fun.”  

Fletcher  offered him an expression that Del was sure was supposed to resemble a smile and nodded. “Yeah, all of them are  bastards in here, you  know. You just watch out for that Mackay. He’ll make your  life a misery if you let him. Oh, and try and keep in good with Mr Barrowclough. Knowing a friendly  prison guard in this  place does you a power  of good. Oh, and watch the prison food, a   disgrace it is.  A crime against humanity, that food is.”

Del took all of this in with slight surprise. It seemed that Fletcher wished to give him advice. “Anything else  I need to know?” he asked, thinking that Fletcher may in fact be  a more useful person to him than  A  mere partner in possible prison trade.

Fletcher nodded. “Bide your time, lad.”

“Isn’t prison lie a bit difficult?” Del asked.

“Not if you keep hold of your sanity. Five months is a doddle,” Fletcher said. “A doddle. If you look at it the right way. Don’t waste too much time trying to get in with the rest of the other prisoners. Bunch of criminals in here. Just bide your time, keep your nose clean and do your porridge. Alright?”

Del could think of nothing to say to that. He just nodded and returned his attention again to the room around him. Bide his time? He would have to. But it was going to take a considerable amount of resource, patience and mental will power to make it through  this hellish experience. Del  Trotter had never been one to back away from  difficulty. He had coped with difficulty all his life in one way or another. But doing porridge was  different. He had seen many a man go down the Kermit, and he had seen very  few return.  He   didn’t ever want to become one of those men,  institutionalised into thinking that the world beyond  the prison was something that he couldn’t handle. He would have to handle it and come out the other side smiling. That was how Del lived his life, with a smile and a prayer. He was sure that this Fletcher man would help him. Or at least, he hoped he would. Del was certainly happy that he wasn’t going to be inside on his own. Any cell mate was better than no cell mate at all in any case. He had to find some sort of pal  with which to spend the sure to be  tedious hours, weeks and months of his term of imprisonment.

“The governer will see you now,” said the voice of Mr Mackay, “he wants  to see you first Mr Trotter.”

“Oh yeah?” Del asked, glad that his voice betrayed no worry,  concern or nervousness of any kind, “that’ll be alright then, I  suppose.” He rose  and glanced to Fletcher who was now looking bored with the procedings. “Any last advice?” he asked.

Nodding, Fletcher offered him one final sentence. “Welcome to Slade.”

 


End file.
